CHAPTER X.
The beautiful Hindoo village of Wye.—The Mahabaleshwar Hills.—The Temple of the Gods.—The Couch of Krishna.—The Stone Image of the Cow from whose mouth the Five Rivers of this Region are said to Spring.—The Holy Tank.—Satarah, the Star City of the Mahratta Empire.—The Fort.—The Palace of Sivaji.—Jejureh, the famous Hill-temples where the Dancing-girls of the Country are recruited.—The Mad Gossain, and the Story of his Ill-fated Love.—The Dancing-girl Krayâhnee.
We made a journey from Poonah to the Mahabaleshwar Hills in a common bullock-cart, but through a country of unrivalled beauty. We spent a night and a day at the rural village of Wye. I have never seen any place where the charm of Oriental grace working through the pure Hindoo imagination has more forcibly stamped itself. The soil, the climate, the temples, the river, the wide-spreading trees, the sportive figures of the gods and goddesses, are all calculated to bring out in strong relief the characteristics of the adjoining mountains, which here assume a multitude of beautiful shapes, rising heavenward like innumerable battlemented towers, pinnacles, or spires, each loftier than the last and endowed with a certain air of individuality peculiar to these hills. One isolated rock near the village rears its flat-topped brow, crowned with an old Mahratta fort, more than a hundred feet high, sharp and abrupt, lending a singular picturesqueness to the smallest object under it.
Wye stands on the left bank of the river Krishna, which is shaded by fine peepul and mango trees; handsome stone steps lead down to the edge of the swift-flowing waters, and are crowded all day long with figures of graceful men, women, and children sporting, bathing, drawing water, or lounging idly around. There was an irresistible freshness and quiet beauty about the gay, careless life of the people, which was passed absolutely on the banks of the river.
We had no sooner taken up our abode in the travellers' bungalow, which here commands a fine view, than the patel, or chief of the city, accompanied by several Brahmans, paid us a visit, bringing us presents of fruit and flowers. I was much struck with the genial kindliness and courtesy of these men.
We rose at dawn next morning to see this Hindoo community perform in one body, on the banks of the Krishna, the peculiar ceremony of worshipping the sun. The people literally lined the banks of the river; their faces were turned up to the sky, and as they stood in rows on the steps leading to the water's edge the effect was very impressive. They then simultaneously filled their palms with water, snuffed it up through their nostrils, and flung it toward the north-east, repeating certain prayers. After this they all proceeded to stand on one foot, then on the other, each holding in his hand an earthen bowl filled with clarified butter, with a lighted wick in the centre. Then they all together saluted the mighty luminary with folded hands raised to their foreheads, and then marched toward the west in imitation of his path through the heavens; which terminated their sun-worship[67] for the day.
We also visited the garden and palace of the Rastias. Mohti Bagh, or "pearl garden," as the entire palace and grounds are called, is only a little distance from the village of Wye. The approach to the palace is through an enchanting road formed of tall bamboos, mangoes, and tamarind trees. Wye is a spot famed in Hindoo literature. Here the heroes of the Mahâbharata spent their years of exile and expiation, and here they are said to have built many wonderful temples. The river is almost gemmed with beautiful temples in the finest style of Hindoo architecture, owing to this historic fact or fiction, whichever it may be. The temples are filled with idols of heroes and heroines, and the city with Hindoo men and women of the finest type and utmost purity of character.
We visited an old Brahman college here, which was once famous for the clever pundits it furnished to the country around. There were some students in one of the rooms; they were all young and good-looking, but had about them an air of decorous restraint and an expression of old age that were depressing to one's spirits.
Passing through a luxuriant country full of venerable trees, groves, gardens, and wide fields, we stopped at the little village of Dhoom to see a famous temple. It was of fine stone, artistically built, but full of strange gods. An arched door led to one of the shrines, where there was an image of Siva. Vessels containing rice and flowers were before him, and the basin in front of the temple is something peculiarly beautiful. It is unique in form—like a huge tulip-shaped cup, of pure white marble, with its rim most delicately carved into the petals of the lotos-flower. It is impossible to give any adequate idea of this exquisite bit of Hindoo sculpture. A pillar of white marble with five heads of Siva, and the cobra de capello twisted round them, adds another charming attraction to this insignificant Brahman village.